What Makes A House A Home
by Kootenai
Summary: A Potter!lock story. Not set during Harry Potter's time at Hogwarts. Sherlock Holmes with a bit of magic thrown into the mix. I'm not sure if it'll be slash or not.


**Hello again. My life has gone a little topsy turvey as of late, and I didn't feel like writing more "Hybrid" or "P&P" so I ended up writing a 500 word **_**something**_** over on Tumblr for a "write a fanfic in my ask" thing. It sort of grew out of hand and now, after good feedback, I've decided to expand and flesh out my Potter!lock. So here it goes…**

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><p>He came from a pureblood family. Both his mother and father were purebloods, as were their parents and their parents before them. <em>Boring.<em> The whole family was sorted into Slytherin and that was something Sherlock wanted to avoid at all costs. He was cunning, resourceful, and completely disregarded rules in general. All things that would make him an ideal Slytherin. Mummy and Mycroft didn't even stop to think about any other possibilities. But he didn't want to be like the rest of them, and he certainly didn't want to be what Mycroft expected him to be.

So, while he sat all alone on the Hogwarts Express, gently petting his owl Malachi, he tried to figure out how to get out of being sorted into Slytherin. Sherlock was no Gryffindor, he looked out for himself far too often and wasn't really the hero type. He wasn't brave when he could think his way out of a problem and he wasn't chivalrous in any sense of the word. Sherlock's loyalty was never to anything except the pursuit of not being bored and his undying curiosity.

He snorted to himself as he thought about being a Hufflepuff and dismissed the idea entirely. Sherlock's fingers traced Malachi's feathers, which were pure black. The owl had large gold eyes that often watched Sherlock as he experimented with magic or got into some muggle's things. Malachi had been a gift given to him on his eleventh birthday, almost eight months previous to the day. Mummy had bought the owl for him and had asked what he was going to call his own private messenger.

"Malachi."

"Why Malachi?" Mummy had asked, humoring him.

"Malachi is an Anglicized version of the Hebrew name Malakiy, which means "my messenger". This is my owl, this is my messenger." And that had been the end of the discussion.

So as his finger began to run smoothly over the back of Malachi's head, Sherlock turned his thoughts to Ravenclaw. From what Mycroft had told him and what he had read, Ravenclaw was his best bet out of Slytherin. Sherlock was always an eager learner and prized the pursuit of knowledge above most things, including eating and sleeping. For him, the Sorting Hat would boil down to these two houses, and Sherlock was ready to intellectually argue his way into Ravenclaw, just to see the look on Mycroft's face.

Satisfied with his answer, Sherlock stood up and changed into his school robes, then sat back down, turning his blue eyes to the window. Malachi spread his wings in a stretch, and then hopped up onto his shoulder. The two of them watched the English countryside pass until the dark settled in, neither of them making a sound, neither of them moving.

When the train stopped at Hogsmeade Sherlock stood up promptly and exited the carriage, owl perched on shoulder. Upon exiting, Malachi took flight towards the castle, leaving Sherlock quite by himself. He began to people watch when a brown haired girl walked up to him and put her hand in his hair. Sherlock gave a questioning stare until she pulled her hand out. With her free hand, she lifted one of his hands and placed a black feather in his palm.

"You, um, had a feather…"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and glanced between the feather in his hand and the brown-eyed girl nervously shifting around in front of him. "I see…"

"Oh… Um, I'm Molly," she gave a nervous laugh and held out her hand.

His glance now went from her out-stretched hand to her face and back again. "Thank you for your assistance, Molly."

Sherlock didn't shake her hand or give his name. He just gave a bit of a nod and then wound his way through the crowd, trying to find the least irritable people. The feather found a new home in his pocket.

The boat ride to the castle was uneventful, despite Sherlock's attempts to pet a tentacle on the nearby Giant Squid, which seemed to be relaxing near the surface. When he had tried to reach over to figure out the texture of the animal, he had gotten a stern look from a blond boy with blue eyes. Sherlock had raised an eyebrow and stretched his hand out a little further, as if challenging the other boy. All he got in return was a sigh and an eye roll followed by a small shake of the head. Most people would either say something or try to make Sherlock stop physically. This was interesting. This boy didn't seem to mind as long as Sherlock knew that what he was doing wasn't an "acceptable action". _Interesting…_

The mass of First Years walked through the halls and waited outside the Great Hall. Sherlock took the time to begin his mental map of Hogwarts, which was only a blueprint until he had actually arrived. He began sorting helpful information such as the locations of suits of armor and various staircases into mental filing drawers when a woman with grey hair in a bun and spectacles on her nose called them all into the hall. The First Years followed her and Sherlock looked immediately to the ceiling. Just as Mycroft had told him and as the books he read stated, his gaze was met with a clear picture of the night sky, stars twinkling and clouds rolling lazily like smoke against the navy dark.

He observed the ceiling for another five minutes before letting his eyes inch down slowly so he could take in the floating candles above the tables. Sherlock paid no attention as the Sorting Hat was brought out and began to talk. His eyes roamed the staff table, making more notes about which professors would be most likely to accept him, and which were going to be fun to annoy. There wasn't much to learn from the staff that wasn't obvious to most people, so when names began being called to begin the sorting, he turned his attention to other students. The Molly girl was near the front, running her hand nervously through her hair. Not ten feet behind her was the short blond boy who had caught Sherlock's attention in the boat. A greasy haired boy with a childish face and a permanent smirk had successfully pick pocketed another student. Sherlock didn't feel like intervening, besides, a collectable card from a chocolate frog box wasn't much of a loss.

So when the straight-backed woman in green robes called out, "Holmes, Sherlock", he didn't feel like he was giving up much in the means of entertainment. Sherlock walked up the three stairs and turned around to face the Hall, and then sat down upon the stool and waited. Waiting was his least favorite thing, so when it was finally placed upon his head, Sherlock glared up at the ratty hat.

_This is stupid. I could have easily just sorted myself. I don't need an old moth-eaten hat to tell me where I belong._

**You've got quite the brain there... **

_It is no larger than any other person's. It is merely much more organized._ _Now, will you please get on with it? This is getting dull._

**Patience. Ah... So you believe you know where you belong? **

_If it was possible to mentally sigh... Of course I do. Can't you see that? _Sherlock scowled and decided to call the hat a few choice words in his mind.

**That wasn't kind, but you aren't a kind one are you? If you are so sure of yourself- **

_I am sure, just say it already so I can sit down. I hate this attention. _

**Touchy. Are you sure Ravenclaw is what you want? Slytherin would welcome you with open arms.**

_I am not going to Slytherin. I refuse._

**You cannot refuse your basic natures.**

_No, but I can tell you that you are wrong. Look, we can have this debate for the next twelve minutes if you want. I've already planned out a response to just about any possible argument you can make. Just save the school and myself the time and wait and put me where I want to be._

**A debate with the Sorting Hat? Well, if you are that sure of your intelligence and can back up your claim, you best be…**_**"RAVENCLAW!"**_

Sherlock practically threw the hat off his head and walked down the Great Hall to the end of the Ravenclaw table, where he sat by himself. He enjoyed the fact that the rest of the students seemed wise enough to leave him alone. He stole a quick glance over to the Slytherin table where Mycroft sat looking disappointed and slightly upset. Sherlock gave his brother a small satisfactory smirk before going back to his favorite past time, people watching.

He eyed the members of the Gryffindor House carefully, watching their eyes and whom it was they spoke to. An older boy, a Prefect with short brown hair and dark brown eyes actually held Sherlock's gaze for a few moments as if silently daring him to say something about his personal life. _I think he'd make a nice... acquaintance. _

"Watson, John."

Sherlock turned his attention to the smaller blond boy now sitting under the Sorting Hat. It was the same boy whom he had shared the boat ride with. Sherlock leaned foreword and rested his chin upon folded fingers.

John started to squirm after a minute of conversation with the hat, which seemed to nod its head with agreement with whatever John had been thinking.

_How does a hat nod? That goes on the "Things to find out when I'm bored" list... _

A moment later the hat opened at the brim and shouted _**"GRYFFINDOR!" **_There was applause as the boy blushed and made his way to his new House table. There was a slight limp in his step that ceased when he approached the Prefect Sherlock had been staring at earlier. The Prefect smiled and moved over to make room for John. John smiled and sat down then began quiet conversation.

From what Sherlock could read on their lips, it was just a casual introduction and congratulations. Then John looked over at Sherlock, who had narrowed his eyes in concentration, and pointed while asking the Prefect a question. The other boy, who Sherlock now knew as "Greg", looked over and shrugged. John looked back at Sherlock, dark blue eyes meeting light, icy inquisitive ones. Silently, John raised an eyebrow and Sherlock responded with the same action. The blond gave a quick grin then broke the visual connection. Sherlock gave John a small smile and looked back up to the staff table.

_Maybe Hogwarts won't be quite as boring as he had thought..._

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><p><strong>So, tell me what you think. I'm not sure if I'll continue this. I'll leave it open for now. Reviews are magical. ~Kootenai<strong>


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